"It was nice," Cain said softly, smiling toward Angar. He had learned a new way to cope with the constant pressure of existence—the endless tension of being a god, a ruler, and a being responsible for worlds.
The technique was simple, almost laughable. Move, breathe, forget. Let the body flow, let the mind fade. By simply losing himself in motion and forgetting the noise of creation, he had found a pocket of peace—a rare, deep tranquility that few cultivators ever attained.
Afterward, the two men sat together in the open air. Cain waved his hand, and a small table appeared between them, floating in the middle of the sky. Platters of spirit fruits and cups of celestial wine shimmered into existence. Angar chuckled, taking one without ceremony, and the two began to speak.
